The sound of the ocean played over the little bakery behind the docks. Carved out of the rising sea cliffs, its back to L'Manberg's outer wall, the establishment enjoyed a blissful view of the inlet.
Within its homely walls, two bakers labored over their work, their passion. Each wore a linen apron fastened behind his or her back, and a pair of white gloves to protect the wonders they created from contamination. Fundy kept his eyes lowered, focused upon the dough he kneaded, only daring to glance up at Nihachu when she turned away. Her hair, spun up behind her head, looked like a vanilla Swiss roll. She closed the oven door after checking on a load of speculaas cookies, and turned back to him. The fox eyes flicked down to his work once more.
The bakery door then opened, bell chiming to announce an entering customer. Nihachu abandoned Fundy in the kitchen, and, smile sparkling on her face, flew to greet the newcomer. But it was not whom she wanted it to be. So she kept her smile to herself, gazing distrustfully at the unwelcome guest.
His name was Sapnap. Third citizen of the Dream SMP–at least third in terms of importance. The moment he stepped in the bakery, the entire atmosphere dampened. A lonely Tubbo munching on an appleflap at a side table munched all the harder.
Look at these idiots, thought Sapnap.
Fundy caught on and marched out of the kitchen to his coworker's side. He laid a discreet hand on her shoulder, beckoning her away from the intruder. "Hello, Snapchat," he said brusquely. "Stopping for directions?"
Sapnap would've scowled had he not already been scowling. "I'm hungry, it smelled good, so I went in. Is this how you treat all customers?"
"You're not from L'Manberg."
"Neither is she."
The fox ears drew back, and Fundy moved in front of Nihachu. "Now she is. Point is, there's a treaty in place in which no citizen of the Dream SMP is allowed in L'Manberg's territory."
"I'm not in your territory." Sapnap turned and gestured to the rocking waves beyond the windows carved out of the side of the cave. "This is outside the walls. Do you not want my business?" He held out a fist, emerald chips gleaming from between his fingers.
"Fundy," whispered Nihachu. "He just wants to fill his stomach. We can grant him that much."
Fundy remained tight, but he said, "Fine, you can purchase here. But if you even so much as think–"
"Yeah, yeah." Sapnap looked over at Tubbo, still munching. "Can I have what he's having?"
Minutes later, Sapnap sat at one of the empty tables, sinking his teeth into an appleflap. Sugar littered his clothes, forcing him to slump over the handwoven placemat. The owners probably preferred him to leave–not probably, definitely, despite how firmly they kept their mouths shut. But the sun proved particularly obnoxious that day, and Sapnap wouldn't be allowed decent shelter for miles until the Community Hub. So he sat snug, watching the bakers bumble about each other like a couple of clueless sweethearts.
Then the bell chimed again, or pealed, and all heads turned at the arrival of President Soot. Except he wasn't President Soot today, but a man in love. One could tell by the glimmer in his eyes, the resolution of his smile, the liveliness in his step he grandstanded across the floor, paying no heed to Sapnap.
"The world basks beneath dawn's mantle, but all I see is the fair rose of L'Manberg." He sang in place of saying, and if Sapnap had George's weak stomach, he would have thrown up.
Fundy shared Sapnap's sentiment, finding Wilbur's poetry poor in taste. "And what is the rose of L'Manberg?" he inquired, making sure Nihachu was busy in the kitchen removing the cookies from the oven.
Wilbur stopped at the counter, blinking ignorantly. "I'm simply describing L'Manberg as being like a rose. Did you think the rose was a separate entity? Whyever would you think that?"
Fundy scowled at the pastries on display, making his pinched face look all the more pinched. "No reason. There's just one too many butterflies around this rose."
"Undoubtedly. May the best one win. Two of those, please," Wibur said before Fundy could make a comeback, pointing to the profiteroles cuddled in the display case. Each cost five emerald chips, so he reached into his coat pocket and produced a single solid emerald, worth ten chips, which he placed upon the counter.
"Two profiteroles for the president," Fundy murmured.
"Or profiteroles for two," came Wilbur.
Then Nihachu emerged from the kitchen, wiping her apron. "Wilbur!" she exclaimed, all smiles. "Good morning, how are you?"
"Just fine–more than fine! What else to expect on this brilliant day of peace!" Wilbur ignored the package of profiteroles Fundy held out to him, choosing instead to take Nihachu's hand and bestow a knightly kiss upon it after removing her glove. "Mostly peaceful if a certain vice president of mine quit the scrimmages," he grumbled as a half-thought to himself, then unleashed the winning smile again. "Pity to spend the day alone." He snatched the package, uncovered a ripe profiterole from within, and pushed it toward Nihachu. "My treat. For the hard work of your hands and my own inextinguishable passion."
Nihachu laughed, her face reverting to a soft shade of rose–a thousand times less blotchy than the jealous pallor Fundy now turned. Her delicate white fingers closed around the delicate white pastry. Come to think of it, she looked a tad like a profiterole herself. What made the L'Manbergians so special as to receive such a pretty profiterole of a girl while Sapnap remained a lonely bachelor?
"Your uniform came in," said Wilbur, leaning against the counter so he could smile at Nihachu at her own level. "Now we can stand side-by-side, and though we hail from different lands, who can doubt our comradery? Who can turn a blind eye to the proud brothers and sister of L'Manberg?" On that thought, Wilbur took a squelching bite of his own profiterole. He looked oh-so jolly in all his notions of comradery and revolutionary grandeur until he spun around and noticed Sapnap for the first time. The oppositions took each other in, cream and sugar smudged around their bulging cheeks.
"Howdy, neighbor," Sapnap smacked.
Wilbur swallowed, wiped his mouth. "Excuse me," he said to Nihachu, and stepped up to Sapnap's table in all elegance despite the whipped cream dangling off one side of his lip. "Does Dream know of this affront to the peace treaty? About trespassing into L'Manberg territory."
"Let a man finish his breakfast."
"You may not respect our land or the treaty, but we only want peace here in L'Manberg." Wilbur swiveled around, seeking out Fundy most likely, but the fox-boy had disappeared into the back. "I don't know who let you in, but I have no choice now but to order you to leave."
"Make me. Bring out the armed forces, put a sword to my throat, and chase me out."
"Challenge accepted," said the fox-like baker, now standing at his president's side, sword drawn, intending to run the intruder through. Sapnap felt a spark ignite inside him as he stared up the steel blade. His fingers reached for his own sword.
"No," Wilbur interjected, his expression darkening in an instant. He glanced at Nihachu, his face warming. "No weapons are permitted in these parts."
"Let's have at it," said Sapnap, rising from his chair. "The last battle I partook in ended too quickly."
Fundy jerked to make the first move, but Wilbur sandwiched himself between them, and not even Sapnap dared to skewer a presidential sandwich.
"Shame on both of you." Wilbur fixed his domineering gaze upon Fundy and his sword. "Why do you have that here? You know the rules. Or are you purposely undermining my authority?"
Fundy's fluffy ears squished against his even fluffier hair. "For the peace of L'Manberg, Wilbur, I'll put him in his place. I'm–" Then his eyes caught Nihachu's. She didn't say anything, but Sapnap could hear the unspoken words, and how they enraged him:
"The war is over."
Fundy's shoulders sank, and he sheathed his blade of steel, whispering, "I'm loyal to L'Manberg."
Sapnap boiled, forcing himself to do the same, though he really didn't have to. "Fine, I'll leave. I hate it here anyways, seeing how you take my business only to run me out. Give me my money back and I just might let you off."
Wilbur signaled to Fundy. Fundy hesitated, and Wilbur had to signal him again before the fox-boy scurried to return Sapnap's emerald chips. Once reimbursed, Sapnap stormed out, slammed the door, his half-eaten appleflap abandoned at the table.
That stupid flip-flop Fundy: handing him goodies one minute, and threats the next. It all depended on how that woman looked at him; she might as well have been the president in Fundy's eyes. She hadn't failed to move Sapnap either. That expression of hers made him feel strange and empty. An emptiness he had tried to ignore for far too long.
Maybe I just need a girlfriend. That's right–a pretty profiterole of a girlfriend from heaven itself.
The morning light played Ring-Around-the-Sapnap. He wandered beside the bakery, to where it morphed into Nihachu's house, also built into the cliffs. He glared at the chickens clucking about their pen close by, when the clatter of wood caught his attention and he noticed one of the paned windows, a natural opening in the rock wall lined with wood, was open. Here and there, the wind knocked the shutter against the frame in a tuneless lullaby. Sapnap found himself drawn to it. He eased the shutter open, and a view of Nihachu's humble home spread before him: mostly bits of crude furniture made beautiful with the pretty little decorations she'd arranged around them. These decorations consisted of wall drawings framed with brightly-colored string, jars of river pebbles and sea rocks, and a cup of pungent wildflowers. Amongst these treasures, a young fox-like dog slept beside the bed.
How serene it looked. How safe it must feel in this quaint little land where no hostile would dare set foot. Dare cast a dangerous eye. Dare to take his weapon and threaten this tenuous peacetime.
Peaceful land, deathless land. I never heard of a deathless land. There's no such thing as a deathless land. You taught me that, didn't you...Spirit?
Sapnap hadn't realized he'd drawn his bow, and now leveled it through the cracked window. Those L'Manbergians should know better than to run a paying customer out like that, especially him. He'd give them a warning shot. An arrow inches away from striking their beloved mascot.
Beloved mascot. Beloved Spirit. Best friend Spirit. Never Sapnap. Who cares about Sapnap?
He couldn't seem to release the arrow, but stood there shaking, until his fingers hurt and his breath steamed through locked teeth. Still the cur slumbered so sublimely.
A more brave, beautiful, foolish horse there has never been–
His fingers slipped and the arrow flew, aimed for the wall beside the blameless creature.
Except Sapnap missed.
Sapnap limped to the peak of the hill overlooking the inlet, heart pounding. He still held his bow, but it felt strange, as if he had too many fingers. Distraught, he slung it over his shoulder. Then he flushed his mind in the seascape's view.
Killed it. Just like I killed Spirit.
The L'Manbergians deserved it. That was as good a warning shot as any. And this wouldn't affect the peace treaty. No one ever started a war over a dead dog. He chuckled to himself.
Sapnap was so preoccupied thinking of all this, he didn't notice the gargantuan cargo ship perilously hugging the shoreline not far north of the peninsula. Now he saw it and all its peculiarity. It sailed east, for the most part, but also had the inexplicable urge to draw into the inlet. It would only be a matter of time before the hull struck an unseen sandbar and the helmsman found himself with a cargo load of damage fines.
Sapnap watched, but the ship was going so slow and taking so long to finally bottom out that he almost walked away. A certain commotion on the deck kept his attention. At least a dozen tiny sailors wrestled about each other, not unlike a prison riot. Sapnap had to squint to make any sense of it, but they appeared to be grappling a particular someone. Or something? Whatever it was, it split from the crowd, fleeing to the edge of the deck. The others followed, and everyone teetered at the rails until the thing ultimately toppled overboard. Maybe it had leapt off itself, but Sapnap could've sworn the sailors had pushed it.
Now it spun into the sea like a paper helicopter, disappearing in the froth around the hull. The sailors made no apparent move to rescue it, so the ship proceeded onward until it became a twinkle on the eastern horizon, never looking back.
Sapnap stared at the spot of ocean where he last saw the thing. No signs of life. Wait–over there! It broke the surface, rolling currents already delivering it into the inlet.
Funny thing was, Sapnap still couldn't figure out what it was. Maybe a bird, judging by the long, feathered wings thrashing against the waves, though it'd have to be a really big bird. There was something human there too–a glimpse of a hand grabbing at the air. Sapnap deduced it was a giant bird monster eating a sailor that had tragically fallen alongside it. Sapnap sat down to watch.
An hour passed, and the two still struggled, no closer or farther from the shore. Then a particularly hefty wave gave them a good slap and they passed out. Not minutes later, the suddenly obliging current carried their remains to the beach.
Sapnap might as well investigate, so he got to his feet and started down, no longer limping. Maybe the sailor was still alive and he could torment his last minutes, or mount the bird monster on his wall. But as he descended the hill, scrutinizing the bodies, he realized they were not the carcasses of a bird monster and half-eaten sailor. Simply a human–with a pair of vast, resplendent wings sprouting from its back.
That's when it hit Sapnap. That the heavens had brought him his pretty profiterole of a girlfriend, and he had sat down and watched her drown.
He exploded into a run, screeching to a halt at the beach. There the angel lay in the swimming sand, limbs limp around her, wings splayed across the beach and casting all the world in glittering gold.
Sapnap caught her up. She was so light; he scarcely felt the heaven-sent creature in his arms. Actually, she looked more Hispanic, and her attire–was she wearing a tracksuit? No matter. Whatever life this fair damsel had lived before, that life was quickly slipping away.
"I'm sorry," he choked. "I'm sorry I watched you drown for an hour!"
What could he do? All confidence he previously had in performing CPR drained as he envisioned his coarse hands crushing the maiden. So he just watched.
She didn't move. It was too late. Sapnap tried not to cry.
So stupid. What's wrong with me?
Then she let out a tiny cough. Sapnap gasped, held her closer. "It's okay. I've got you now." He gripped her delicate gloved hand in his; every bone felt so brittle he feared they'd snap in his grasp.
Her short, dark hair fell away from her closed eyes. Her eyebrows tightened, and then those closed eyes fluttered open and focused upon him. It was then that Sapnap realized he'd made a huge mistake: that this beached damsel was, in fact, not a damsel at all.
"AAAAAUUUUGGGHHH!"
The two men shrieked in unison, a truly appalling sound, such that every seagull within a five-mile radius suffered partial hearing loss. Each scrambled away from the other until a decent twenty feet stretched between them.
Sapnap, flattened with his back against a palm tree, felt unbelievably stupid. He was ready to lose it. Ready to throw his arms up and yell with all he had left: "WHY DOES THERE HAVE TO BE SO MANY FLIPPIN' DUDES IN THIS PLACE?" But all that he managed was a single tortured, "Whyyyyy?"
The strange persona, crouched upon his hands and knees, spoke in a ghastly voice. It was deeper than the cough, but not deep, having a quality reminiscent of the base speech of a waterfowl. " 'Why?!' " rasped the man, or boy, or whatever the thing was. "I should be the one asking that. What were you trying to do to me?" And he hacked up a gob of sand.
"I mistook you for my prof–my girlfriend." At least Sapnap was honest. Kinda. Before any more self-conscious horror could fill the young man's excessively round eyes, Sapnap added, "In my defense, you have..."
What did he have? Sapnap observed the pitiful creature wobble to his feet, then meander in a circle, stooping to pick up a sopping wet beanie and slap it on his head. What kind of idiot would mistake this teenager for a heavenly maiden? What kind of maidens wore tracksuits anyway? The more Sapnap thought about it, the more he pitied the guy. He watched him heave his wings out of the shallows with his hands. Maybe it was just because he was tired and his wings were wet, but they looked far too heavy for him.
At last Sapnap said, "You have...wings," and the stupidity returned.
The man paused, looked at him. A weird little smile twisted on his lips. "I know," he said softly. "I mean, what, does your girl have wings too?"
"Well, no. She...doesn't exist."
"Wow, I'm sorry."
"Yeah, don't be." Sapnap had admitted it to a complete stranger, but it felt right. He needed a guy he could confide in, seeing how he felt less comfortable with Dream and George day by day.
The young man walked up to Sapnap, leveling a couple inches shorter than him. He gave Sapnap a sandy hand along with a smile–a brilliant, unreserved, and conspicuously lopsided smile. "Let's forget that ever happened. Hi, my name is Quackity."
Sapnap took his hand, again feeling those brittle bones beneath the newcomer's fingerless glove. "Hey, Quackity. I'm Sapnap."
"Good name."
"Same to you. Welcome to the Dream SMP." Quackity just gave him a happy, clueless look at this, so Sapnap expanded. "It's a country thing me and my two friends established. We don't actually know where it is in the world, but it's mostly uninhabited. Here, take my water bottle; you can have it."
Quackity devoured the water bottle, stuttering between gulps, "You–you made a country? You can do that? Wait–are you a president or something?"
"No, I'm Sapnap. Dream's in charge. Here, I'll show you around."
They started slow, but gradually Quackity regained his strength, with an added dose of hyperactivity. He never raised his wings off the ground, but let the ends drag behind him, which probably attributed to his poor posture. His voice lost all raspiness, and he now spoke with the obnoxious volume one uses when addressing a sizable crowd on a windy day. Except there was only Sapnap on this debatably windy day. All the way up along the peninsula, Quackity noisily divulged how he'd hitchhiked from the west coast of America on an airplane of all things. He described in grand detail how chilly it had been cramped in the undercarriage, and Sapnap wondered how the man had managed to make the journey without dying from hypothermia or lack of oxygen. The dude has wings, and still, he stows away on a plane. Once the airplane had landed, Quackity thought he had made it to the state of Nevada as intended, but instead found himself stranded somewhere on the east coast. So later he hopped on a cargo ship (not knowing where that was headed either), but the crew had discovered his whereabouts halfway through, and the whole ordeal ended with an unplanned swim in the sea.
"And that's when you found me and it got all weird."
"I told you, I was–" Sapnap let it be.
They arrived at the gorge enclosing the river. Quackity stalked the rim until it sloped enough for him to safely climb down, then he gamboled into the stream like a happy duckling. There he flapped and frolicked, fresh water releasing him from the stinging salt and sand. Sapnap hung by the ridge, thinking about nothing.
"What's up with this menacing black wall?" inquired a sleek Quackity, crawling up the bank. "Is that your place?"
Sapnap didn't so much as glance at it. "Oh, that's L'Manberg. Basically, a bunch of morons decided to start their own colony on our land, and that's the place they built. Kind of like their own nation? I dunno. It's really just four dudes and a girl, but they're like their own weird family thing."
This struck a chord with Quackity. "You're not serious!" he shouted, punctuated with an exuberant flap of his very-much-wet wings. "They did that? By themselves?"
"Dude, chill," said Sapnap, now dripping river water.
"Sorry, fresh out of juvie, I get excited."
"Wait–what?"
But Quackity insisted on sticking to the previous topic. "Tell me more about the family of L'Manberg! What do they do there?"
"Uh. Bake bread, build walls, be annoying. They might still make drugs but I don't–"
"Wait!" Quackity perked up, his smile gone and gaze lost in a trance.
Sapnap didn't know what this meant, so he tried again. "I said, they might still make drugs but–"
"Shh!" Now Quackity held out his hand. Sapnap concluded there was a nonexistent sound coming from nowhere and Quackity was determined to listen to it.
But the longer they waited and the longer nothing happened, Sapnap's little patience ran out. "Dude, there's nothing–"
"Over here!" And there Quackity went, running toward L'Manberg. Sapnap followed, even as his target sprinted around the walls. Now he raised his wings from the ground, white feathers shimmering in shades of gold as they caught the light, water droplets sparkling down each shaft before they vanished. Sapnap expected him to take flight at any second. All attempts to grab him proved futile as the duck-boy was too slippery. Sapnap chased him past the tollgate, which was always empty anyways, all the way to the northern gates, open as they often were before twilight. There Quackity finally came to a standstill, his entire being fixed on L'Manberg.
Her dark walls blotted out half the sky. Looming above the battlements, the new flagpole shot like a beacon to the clouds, L'Manberg's banner billowing at its peak. A swathe of black trimmed with gold adorned one side; blue, white, and red striped the rest of the field. Three crosses–like the ones decorating the battlements of the walls–marched lengthwise down the center.
Sapnap stopped alongside Quackity, lightly panting. "They're a tight-knit, stingy little group. No way they'll let you in. They don't even like us being here on the peninsula."
The drone of his own voice diminished, and a new sound came to Sapnap. The casual, almost lazy strumming of a guitar accompanied by someone's singing. He saw it too; glimpses through the gates into the lives of those who dwelt here. Wilbur Soot sat upon the RV's steps, head bent over his guitar so that his curly hair hid most of his face, but Sapnap could see the end of the cigarette clamped between his teeth. The dirty crime boy sounded exceptional regardless of the aforementioned cigarette, his melodious voice capturing all who chanced to listen:
"In the gold between the dawn
Danced my darling in the sun,
Jewels like roses in her hair,
In my country, bright and fair.
And I would say,
'Come dance for me,
Come be my love, come be my queen,'
As we would sing:
'Lu, lay, lu, lay,
Lu, la, lay,
Lu, la, lee, lee, lee, lay.' "
He thumbed the guitar strings, stopping mid-pluck to adjust a note at least a dozen times before it satisfied him. Sapnap wondered if the earlier run-in between the two of them had cut the president's date with the pretty baker short.
The children, Tommy and Tubbo, scuffled in the green, shrieking while jabbing each other with wooden swords. No weapons were allowed in L'Manberg, yet the president allowed the children toys. Now and then, one of them would rassle too close to Wilbur and he'd gently chide them, though he made no move when they tumbled headlong into the pond. On the opposite side of L'Manberg, Sapnap noticed Fundy and Nihachu entering the smaller eastern gate there. Nihachu acted strange; her arms curled around herself and her gait drifting sideways. Sapnap realized she was crying, and he knew why. Fundy hovered in her shadow, ready to take her up in his arms and bury her tears in his embrace, but that wouldn't happen. After Sapnap had surveyed the other citizens, he deduced no one else knew of what had befallen Nihachu's pet hound yet.
"Come on," Sapnap urged. "We gotta go before they see us."
Still the song drew Quackity in. Big, black eyes wide open and eager to see the whole world, the duck-boy moved nearer to the open arms of L'Manberg's gates. Sapnap found himself backing away, but he watched. Watched as Quackity passed through the gates and–
"INTRUDER!"
Quackity had as much time to react to the children tackling him as he would getting struck by lightning. His final words consisted of a piercing shriek before Tommy and Tubbo bowled him over and pinned him to the ground.
"I've got 'im!" Tommy boasted, perched upon Quackity's chest and holding his arms down at either side. "C'mere, Wilbur! Look, I've got meself a prisoner! Ey, why is 'e wet?"
Wilbur, his guitar hanging from his back by a strap, strolled over, a critical look in his eye as he took in the prisoner. He did not notice Fundy and Nihachu coming over; they now stopped by the RV to perceive the situation, but didn't advance any more.
Quackity, gasping as Tommy crushed his lungs, managed to speak, but only in a shamefully high pitch, "Hi there! Hey, guys! How are you doing?" He graced them all with another one of his painfully crooked smiles.
Wilbur flicked a glance outside before Sapnap could duck behind a tree. His expression remained neutral, and he removed the cigarette from his mouth. "We're doing well, thank you very much. And how may I help you?"
"Certainly, certainly! You see, my name is Quackity. I'm nineteen years old, and I've just arrived in this gorgeous country. I heard about what you're doing here, building a nation and all, and I didn't want to miss out on all the fun."
"I'm afraid there's nothing 'fun' about it," Wilbur said dryly. "We're only now enjoying a season of prosperity after selling our blood for it."
"And discs," Tommy added. Tubbo bobbed his head grimly.
"Is that so...?" Quackity giggled, but sounded significantly less enthused.
Tommy looked offended. "Why are you laughing? This i'n't funny. This is very sad."
"No, I'm not laughing! I'm agreeing! That's a hard price, but look what you've gotten from it! A beautiful home, brothers-in-arms that are basically family, and outfits–I mean, the outfits are a little outdated, wouldn't you say? It's 2020, fellas! What are you doing?"
"You're talking about our fashion?" Tommy tugged at Quackity's jacket zipper. "Who just ambles about in a tracksuit? People who want to look like edgy gangsters, that's who. You know what we 'ave? We 'ave style, my friend–we wear real clothes and real 'ats like real men. Like, wot even is this? This creepy cape thing?" Tommy's hand no sooner closed on one of the feathered wings than Quackity slithered out from under him and now stood a good two yards away from the boy.
Quackity smiled apologetically. "Sorry, just getting a little cozy there!"
Meanwhile, Tommy still held out his hand, grasping nothing, his expression a mixture of envy and wonder. He tripped passed a paralyzed Tubbo, back to Wilbur, staring and stuttering the whole time, "Will, 'e's got–e's actually got–I want–"
"No, you can't have wings, Tommy," said Wilbur, then addressed Quackity. "I apologize for my vice president's manners." Still, Wilbur cast an uncanny eye upon Quackity's wings, and he subconsciously started fingering the charm of his necklace.
So the dude has wings. Big deal.
"No, I'm sorry," Quackity said again, as if possessing wings was a reason to apologize. "It's a condition I was born with."
"Also, wot's wrong with your voice?" Tommy honked. Someone needed to slap that child around.
Quackity flushed, faintly visible through his tawny-brown skin. "That's messed-up, dude! My voice is part of the condition."
"Oh, is it now?" Tommy stomped forward out of Wilbur's reach before he could grab him. "I've never 'eard of this condition. Wot's it called?"
Quackity paused, then spoke, hesitantly, "Swag..."
"And you walking into our 'ome–don't tell me that's part of your swag syndrome as well? Well I don't believe you! You're just a shtupid, mangy outlander with a shtupid voice who can't–"
Wilbur grappled Tommy and held the flailing child's mouth shut. "It was good to meet you, Quackity," he said, all pleasantries forced. "Have a good night, and please be careful not to trespass into our territory again."
Tubbo wagged his wooden shortsword toward Quackity, herding him out the gates. "Wait–!" Quackity cried as Wilbur turned away, "Sorry I forgot to knock. But I wasn't just stopping by to say hi." Wilbur looked back at him, eyes narrowed. Quackity pulled a smile, the water droplets rolling down his face turning to sweat drops. "Look," he said tremulously, "surely you've got some space available. Room for one more man." Then, with nothing short of melodrama, he collapsed to his knees. "I am your servant. Whatever you need: an assistant, a chef, a bard. This is everything I've dreamed of. You need to let me be a part of this." Pause. "You can think about it! You can think about it. I know you don't know me well, but you can take your time, talk it over with the guys, and then–"
"No."
Quackity, bowed upon the ground, looked up. "What?"
Smoke spiraled around Wilbur's passive face. The child wriggled in his arms. "I said no."
"Can I...can I at least stay the night?"
"Unless you hail from the Queen's land, or anywhere else in Europe, we have no room for you. Good night."
The president signaled Tubbo, and the gates rattled shut in Quackity's face.
"I told you," said Sapnap, coming over from his tree. "What'd you expect?"
Quackity wasn't smiling anymore.
"Look, dude, you can spend the night at my place." Except Sapnap then noticed the darkness clawing the horizon. "Actually, it wouldn't be a good idea tonight. The Community Hub is a good six miles from here. Probably better to hunker down somewhere close until you're up to hiking. You good at camping?"
Quackity didn't answer, preferring to stare listlessly at the black walls in case the gates suddenly opened and President Wilbur popped his head out to say, "Just kidding!" and everyone around the world could join L'Manberg and chow on free hot dogs every day.
Nah, this is definitely a city boy.
"Here, I've got a better idea," said Sapnap, and took his leave. He hoped Quackity would tag along, and he did, slowly, sadly, in such a way that even Sapnap felt more depressed than usual. Instead of following the path west to the trestle bridge, they took a shortcut northeast to where the peninsula attached to the mainland by natural means. They followed the inlet's curve until the trees moved aside, and Tommy's holiday home clinging to the cliffside opened into view. With the tangled railway tracks to their right, the two hiked the cliffs until they reached the cottage. Quackity, despite his drowning little more than an hour prior, kept up with Sapnap and refrained from complaining the entire way. Or saying anything for that matter.
Sapnap flicked a glance at the barren corral, then the tasteless cottage and the tacky swing set. "This is Tommy's spare house, but he's back in L'Manberg and doesn't ride the rails at night, so I don't think he'll be coming home tonight. There's a bed inside and I'm sure he's got some food stashed somewhere." No reply. Not even an "okay" or a "who cares."
The door was unlocked, or rather, didn't have a lock at all. So they entered; Sapnap went about lighting the lanterns.
"Why is there a cow here?" squawked Quackity at last.
The house lacked a refrigerator, and after uncovering a crate of rotting radishes, Sapnap deduced the child had left no edibles for weary travelers. Except maybe that short, round cow. How funny would it be when Tommy returned and found his beloved bovine cooked in a stew?
Giving your body to sustain mine, isn't that right, Spirit? Why don't we play by your rules? After all, you're the most brave, brilliant, beautiful friend a man could have, right? Bet you're also tasty…
"Sapnap? Maybe you shouldn't–"
For the second time that day, Sapnap found himself with bow drawn and aimed at a defenseless animal. He lowered it. Put it away. Never met Quackity's stupefied expression.
Maybe he should venture outside and see what pickings he could take of the wild game festering at the late hour. Stalking behind the property, Sapnap happened upon a strange little patch of dirt marked with a tin can. He kicked it aside. He didn't go far beyond that before he stumbled across another cow, funny enough. It lay beneath a tree, raising its head at his approach, glittering eyes staring at the arrow he focused on it. Only after the fact did he find the collar around the fat young steer, and the name tag: "Harold."
Sapnap returned to the cottage, bringing with him a reasonable hunk of meat as opposed to dragging the entire dead cow over. The mobs and beasts would finish it off. Sapnap found Quackity sitting idly on the swing next to the front porch, hands loosely gripping the ropes on either side of him, the outside lanterns lining his silhouette in gold. Besides his toes kicking at tufts of grass, he didn't move, just sat there and soaked in the view of the darkened landscape. During the daytime, one could see everything from this height: the peninsula, Prime Path, the embassy to the east, Skeppy and Bad's Quartz Mansion farther north, and in the other direction–Punz's estate, the UFO, and the hills surrounding the Community Hub if you looked hard enough.
"Got us some dinner," Sapnap told the duck-boy. Quackity's gaze shifted for a split-second, but he otherwise made no indication of having heard him. Sapnap shrugged, reentered the house, and finished preparing the beef, cooking it in its own fat. He wished he had some seasoning beyond the emergency salt he always kept on his person, but it was a meal and it filled his stomach. He composed a plate for Quackity and left it on the counter for whenever the duck-boy decided to come back inside. Henry the cow chewed from the box of smelly radishes.
Now to sleep. The cot might've been wide enough for two, but Quackity had wings. Sapnap decided to make his bed on the floor to avoid any disputes. That didn't stop him from stealing the pillow, however. Then he undid his ponytail, letting his stream of black hair fall down his back. Using the tablecloth as a blanket, he lowered himself to the floorboards, sword close at hand.
Quackity stayed outside the cottage walls with all the wild, unwanted things that roamed there, waiting for the world to turn. Amid the calls and screams of the night birds, he quietly hummed his own song–a song to carry his longing down to the golden lights twinkling in L'Manberg.
Sapnap attacked the morning. He stretched, pumped a hundred push-ups, blitzed a cold shower in Tommy's nasty bathroom, and tied up his hair. Then, with some strips of beef for the road, he embarked on the journey back to the Community Hub.
The trip was uneventful. Not a soul crossed his path except for that hippie Ponk leading a chicken by a leash, probably on his way to his new treehouse up north. It was only after Sapnap was well down Prime Path did he realize he had forgotten about Quackity. Oh well.
It was still a couple hours before noon by the time he arrived in the valley. Sapnap deposited his satchel in the Community House, then drifted over to the peach tree grove. There Dream and George tested their archery on targets painted on the old cabin's walls about thirty feet in front of them. Alyssa had lived in that cabin–before she, Sapnap's only family, left him and returned to America. But even before her, the Dream Team had resided in that cabin, struggling to feed and warm themselves for what must've been half a year. How rare for all three of them to simply be together these days. Someone was always off on some errand or another. Not how it used to be, when they were closer to each other than actual family. When it used to be more important.
"Good morning, Sap," said George with a smile, and lowered his longbow. "Dream barely made it back here before you. Don't tell me you've been patrolling all this time?"
Sapnap plopped down on the grass. "It takes a while getting places by foot. But that's what happens when Dream takes my horse for his little hunts without asking." He glared at Dream, whether his friend looked back or not from behind the mask.
Dream didn't respond, only fired his netherite crossbow. He smote the target dead-center, thirty feet and all. The willpower that man had: leisurely hitting bullseyes not hours after returning from a multi-day hunting excursion, not to mention he got bowled over by a train earlier that week. "I trust you did not run into any trouble, Sap?" he said stoically.
"Well, I met this dude who might stick around for a while. He's my age, looking for friends, kind of annoying, but I don't think he poses a threat." Sapnap squinted at the noonday sun. "Except he seems pretty fixed on buddying up with the L'Manbergians, but of course they'll have none of it. I don't think he's gonna let it go easy."
"I get that," said George. "You said he's looking to make a few friends? I'd like to meet this new acquaintance of yours."
"Sure. I dunno how well the two of you will get along, with you being a posh gent and him being a...I dunno, but I'll hook you up."
"You okay with him here, Dream?" George asked. It irked Sapnap how George ran everything by Dream.
"Of course," Dream replied, releasing a second shot. "I have no problem with people coming to live in our country. Just them taking it away from us."
"Good, because I've been seeing about contacting our old friend Karl Jacobs as of late. I've gotten a few leads." George plucked his longbow string. "I don't think he knew you, Dream."
Dream made no answer, fired again.
"Wow, Dream, you've really improved," mused Sapnap, regarding the three consecutive hits. "Guess your head's also feeling better from the train incident."
"He's been training under our noses," laughed George, and let fly his own shot with his longbow. Bullseye.
"And George has always been a natural shot," added Dream with a smile. Sapnap twitched. "Here, I want to show you something. I made an alteration to my crossbow."
Sapnap appraised Dream's weapon–a custom-made netherite crossbow crafted after many a tedious hour under Sam's tutelage. "It looks like you stuck a lighter to the riser."
"Close. You know how we have to light our flammable arrows and then load them? Well, this device saves time and automatically lights your arrows as you fire them. And it is not just for crossbows; I can install this on your guys' bows as well." He then demonstrated, taking an arrow from his second quiver, the one carrying the flammable arrows, and notched it in his crossbow. He poised it over the lake and pulled the trigger. A burst of confetti-like sparks followed the missile before it drowned in the lake's merciless hand. Sapnap and George clapped for another stroke of Dream's genius.
Later, Sapnap made himself lunch, and went to fetch his fish some lunch as well. Except the tank upstairs in the Community House turned up empty. He figured he must've transferred them to the tank displayed within his lake house and forgotten about it. That, or they grew legs and decided to finally ditch him. On his way around the Community House to his place, Sapnap noticed the bodies of two deer and a squirrel hanging against the eastern wall. Dream's game, most likely; he'd sell the harvestings to the villagers. But those weren't ordinary white-tailed deer. They were reindeer.
Sapnap plodded down to his newly-rebuilt lake house. Sam was generous enough to help construct it a second time, even upgrading it from the last with a basement comprised entirely of glass, but it would never hold the same magnificence in Sapnap's eyes. He opened the door, and his foot kicked something metal-like lying on the floor. The door lock–broken. A feeling of dread slinked over Sapnap as he raised his eyes.
"PET KILLER" scratched along the opposite windows like grungy wallpaper. So, he had had visitors last night, maybe even this morning, and George was too busy sleeping to notice. Ha, he thought bitterly, if George were awake, would that coward do anything?
The damages weren't limited to the windows. Someone had cracked the glass making up the lower level, and the Community Lake had moved into Sapnap's basement, flooding it from ceiling to floor. He didn't want to look at it.
These L'Manbergians have taken everything too far.
Collecting his weapons, satchel, and an emergency stick of dynamite, Sapnap rushed to the stables, saddled his weary horse, and galloped out of the valley. L'Manberg would soon have a visitor, except he wasn't coming for appleflaps this time.
Just short of a half an hour, Sapnap blazed into the peninsula, straight for the bakery because he knew he'd find the fox-eared vandalizer there. As he turned along the feet of the cliffs, a mosaic of soft colors pulled his gaze in their direction. They were bunches of flowers arranged around a stone plaque at the cliff's base. A most darling pet's grave.
"Look who decided to show up!" The perpetrator poised before the bakery door, grinning from fox ear to fox ear, playing with a lighter in his gloved hands. Beside him, a woven basket squatted upon a table, pink ribbons and tiny wooden stakes poking over the lip; a piece of paper reading "candied apples, one emerald chip each" stuck to the front of it. "Here to face judgment for your crimes?" Fundy sneered. "Funny how I remember you dragging us to court many moons ago."
Sapnap slowed, but remained mounted so he could relish the view of his enemy looking up at him. "Oh, there's gonna be judgment all right. Thought you could vandalize my house and not face repercussions?"
"Sounds fair to me. Damage for damage. You killed Fungie, we took your fish, and–"
"You have the fish?" Sapnap fumed.
Fundy noticed, and grinned all the wider. "They were only ever so slightly moved. One or two may have perished."
"One or two? There are only two of them. How many perished?"
Fundy still grinned.
"Give me a number, Fundy."
"No."
Not that Sapnap cared what happened to the fish. It was the theft itself, combined with the wrecking of his house. Fundy was crossing the bounds, teasing Sapnap's enmity.
Sapnap led his horse beside the bakery, then Nihachu's house, coolly reaching for his bow. "Do these chickens mean anything to you?"
Fundy pocketed the lighter and followed, wary. "These chickens mean something to Niki. But she has nothing to do with all this."
Ha, ha, see if Sapnap cares.
He let loose a shot at the chicken pen. He didn't look, just listened to the flurry of feathers and chickens clattering.
"Stop! Stop! No, what are you doing? They have absolutely nothing to do with this." Fundy couldn't tackle Sapnap without the horse threatening to crush the toes of his boots.
Sapnap drew the string taut again. "How many of my fish died again?"
"Zero," Fundy growled, ears flat.
"That was a lie." Another shot, and amazingly enough, Sapnap didn't miss.
Fundy could only yip at Sapnap while fumbling with his coat pocket for his lighter. "Zero! This is what you want to hear! We already know what you've done before; you don't have to show it off again. It's zero, I promise!"
"Are you going to keep lying to me, Fundy?"
They were making such a ruckus at this point, Nihachu came fleeting out of the bakery, powdered with flour. "What's going on? Fundy, what are you doing?" She neared the chicken pen, but Fundy stopped her before she could see the slaughter.
Sapnap guided his horse away from them, and kept going until the mongrel's grave lay beside him. "Fundy," he said, "I'm not a man of mercy. To be honest, I enjoy this. You're going to tell me where my fish are, or you can return them safely. Keep in mind that I have Dream on my side."
The Dream card won every time. "Tubbo hid them away," admitted the fox-boy at length. Nihachu looked doubtfully from him to Sapnap.
Tubbo. A picture of Tubbo huddled in the bakery and munching on an appleflap flew to mind. Sapnap unsheathed his sword, drew a couple circles in the air with its point, and directed it down at Fundy. "Tubbo...just another one of you–you L'Manbergian scum."
Sapnap could see Fundy's hair prickle. "What did you just call us?"
"What you are. L'Manbergian scum. Wish we could chase you out of existence."
Fundy stared callously up Sapnap's blade. "You wouldn't dare to say that when we're all here. But now when you have the upper hand, have me singled out with your sword to my throat–that's when you go ahead and call us scum. You have no dignity. Yeah, you threaten me with Dream, because you need him for everything. If it were to be an equal match, I would destroy you. We can settle this, you know that? An equal fight, with equal rounds, no one else."
The air between them simmered. Nihachu stepped up to Fundy as if to say something, so that's when Sapnap spoke.
"You know what, actually? That sounds like a good idea, but I want to show you something first. Could you stand back a few feet? Right there. Trust me, I'm not gonna set you on fire or anything." Fundy's scowl might've set him on fire. "Now I want you to look this way."
Sapnap struck the end of the TNT he took from his satchel. Fundy's protests and Nihachu's cries couldn't stop him from tossing it into the center of their pet's grave. Rest in a thousand pieces. The dirt exploded–spraying off the earth and hammering their faces. It was over so quickly, nothing left in remembrance of that beloved mascot named Fungie.
Sapnap rode next to Fundy's motionless figure and spoke, in a bored, lilting voice. "The animals, Fundy. I don't know why, but they just love to die."
A kind of green fire erupted in Fundy's eyes. "You and me! No Dream, no nothing! One versus one, equal terms, equal fight!" Sapnap listened. "If you win, I will give everything back and will accept defeat. But that's not going to happen," he chuckled. "I will win and you're gonna skedaddle. You will never set foot on L'Manberg territory again."
"Oh, Fundy. I will bring you to your knees."
"Noontime, tomorrow, at Tubbo's old mansion. I will see you defeated, Sapnap. I'll see to it myself."
Sapnap's reply consisted of him whipping his horse around, punctuated by a toss of his ponytail over his shoulder. As he left them at the smoldering scene, the last thing he heard was Nihachu's sorrowful voice:
"You can't make that happen, Fundy. You know that, right?"
Sapnap spent that next morning bustling around the Community Hub, doing anything if it meant avoiding his vandalized lake house. When he ran out of cracks to seal or ugly chairs to hide, he took up a newfound hobby, blacksmithing. Specifically, branding irons. He could see it now: "Lord Sapnap Esquire I" scorched on everything he owned–buildings, landmarks, livestock.
He might've smiled a second. Maybe people.
In those mostly quiet hours before the fated duel, Sapnap caught Dream trying to sneak off with Sapnap's own horse on what would most likely turn into a mult-week business trip to the village unless he happened upon the traveling traders along the way. Sapnap urged him to take the mare Alyssa had left behind, the one named Marron, and Dream agreed in the end.
As noontime lurked around the corner, Sapnap finished browning a hearty rabbit casserole that would be George's lunch for the next five days. Then he hurried up and brushed his horse down, stacked on the tack, and whisked up Prime Path at a steady canter.
The question of Quackity's whereabouts crossed his mind at one point, but he didn't dwell long upon it. Probably eaten by a zombie or something.
Fundy's ears came into sight almost a mile away. Sapnap reeled his horse into an aggressive halt beside him, powdering Fundy, as well as Tubbo, in a layer of dust.
Fundy waved his hand in front of his face. "Good day, Sapnap," he coughed. Sapnap expected names like "Animal Killer" or "Grave Robber," but as of yet, all remained unspoken.
"Hello, Fundy." Sapnap leapt to the ground, issuing a second round of dust. It hung in the air like film grain over Tubbo's cottage-mansion, a desolated paradise of Sapnap's doing. Most of the wreckage now comprised a short barrier along the outskirts of what Sapnap assumed to be the fighting arena. Only a number of wooden pillars remained in the clearing, like fire-stained sentinels. Tubbo meandered about the remains like a lost boy searching for his home in the rubble.
On the other side of Prime Path lay Fundy's own cooked composition: the carcass of a shack once known as the Socializing Club, though the location now served as the country junkyard. Fundy, stationed before it all and wearing half the colors of the rainbow on his gaudy uniform, laid down the basics. "My proposition, Sapnap: we fight five times. You get knocked out of the ring, you win. First person to get three wins, takes it all. If you come out on top, I will give you back your fish, I will tell you that you are better than me, and I will give up and accept my defeat. If I win–"
"You can do whatever you want with the fish." Sapnap kicked a pile of soot, watched it crumble before his power. "Whatever feeds your sadistic lifestyle, I guess."
"No, no, I'm not a cold-blooded killer like you." Sapnap could hear Fundy's snarl without looking at his face. "This is a revenge story. I'm here to set justice in this world."
"That's what you think?" Sapnap scoffed. He led his horse to a tree beside the nearby pond and tied it there. "Justice is gonna get whipped today."
Fundy laughed, or at least, made a sound as to mimic that of a laugh. "If I win, you're going to rebuild the grave, just the way it was before. And I want you to give up on ever messing with us again."
"Fine."
After Sapnap dropped off his belongings by his horse, the two combatants geared up. The provided supplies consisted of a suit of iron armor for each contender, a dull axe, and a short bow which looked like someone had pulled from the Socializing Club rejection pile. A dozen arrows were included in the pack, all blunted; someone had gone through the trouble to childproof the toys. No blood would be spilled today.
"I want a nice, clean fight, boys," announced Tubbo, avoiding Fundy's gaze. A glint of shiny red caught Sapnap's eye. The boy held a candied apple on a stick, a thin layer of dust clinging to its sticky exterior. Tubbo's mouth hovered next to it, and Sapnap looked away before he licked it.
The two men occupied their places on either end of Tubbo's property. "Referee!" called Fundy, slinging his arm through the bow. "Count us down from ten."
Tubbo, the referee, found himself an out-of-the-way mound of debris on which to stand. "Right! On my mark, gentlemen! You have from ten! Nine!" Seven seconds later: "One! Fight!"
Sapnap took up the axe and hurtled toward Fundy, dodging around wooden pillars. Fundy held back, warming up the bow in his hand while his axe remained at his side. Tubbo boomed into his candied apple like a microphone, commentating faster than the contenders could contend: "All right, F-Fundy's got the bow and misses the first shot. Sapnap is coming up into the middle, and Fundy's retreating behind a pillar. Sapnap is very exposed. Fundy misses the next one. Then he–Fundy gets a beautiful shot on Sapnap! Turns out that previous one was a distraction. Sapnap's staying low. He's crouched down so that Fundy can't get a jump shot on him. Sapnap's going 'round the side, he pushes down the side, but Fundy's fast and avoids him. He still hasn't landed a–Fundy gets another hit!"
That last arrow decided to bite the side of Sapnap's leg that wasn't protected by armor. Stooped over, clutching the inside of his knee, Sapnap grinned up at Fundy, glaring out of the whites of his eyes. "You're definitely a better archer," he seethed. Fundy knew it and raised his bow again.
Shoot me all you like. It'll never knock me out of the ring.
"Okay!" Tubbo squealed. "Sapnap dodges the next arrow! Now he's got the axe, Fundy tries to dodge, but–ah! That must've hurt! Okay, Fundy's retreating back behind a pillar. Come on, Fundy. So much rides on this job."
The fox-boy was already panting–from the running, the excitement, but most of all the fear. He'd not tasted Sapnap's power until this moment, and now realized what he was up against. Sapnap drank up his fear like a regeneration potion.
"Okay, Sapnap draws Fundy into the middle; they're dueling it out with their axes. Sapnap's definitely the more aggressive one here, but Fundy's got some slick moves. You never know which swings are feigns and which are real. Unfortunately, Fundy's falling back. He's getting close to the edge. He's got to get out of there. He has to–move, Fundy!"
Fundy tottered on the rim. His bow slid off his back, and like an idiot he dashed to catch it. The fox-boy pitched upon the line of rubble, the first contender out-of-bounds.
"Fundy is pushed out of the ring! I-I'm sorry, Fundy. First point goes to Sapnap."
Fundy didn't stay on the ground long. He bounced to his feet, quivering unnecessarily. "All right, all right. It's a fair start."
They positioned for round two. Sapnap shut out the pain in his leg, replaying fabrications of defeating Fundy again and again in his mind. Tubbo barely said the "T" in "fight" when Sapnap flew to the far side of the arena, hammering Fundy with his axe in the same way as before. Fundy tried to block, but Sapnap sent the fox-boy's axe out of the ring, the fox-boy following shortly. Sapnap couldn't help but laugh in those final moments.
"That was so close!" Tubbo wiped a tear from his eye and crammed the candied apple into his mouth.
Sapnap gave Fundy a hand, and helped him to his feet. "You played that very well, but you need to focus on melee attacks. You keep going for the bow, but that's not gonna push me out of the arena."
Fundy's bangs concealed his eyes. "You've beaten me twice already. You probably know that you're gonna win."
"You wanna call it off?" Sapnap watched Fundy rise to his full height, shuddering ever so slightly. "Sorry, Fundy, but you're gonna lose everything that's important to you."
Fundy gritted his teeth, long canines contributing to his feral appearance. "No! This is not for me! Listen, I can lose whatever I want. This is for justice. For safety. This is for Fungie and all the animals you've tortured. This is for Niki."
How strange he was. "All right. I'll take everything from you. If that's really what you want."
A two-minute break, and the referee commenced the third round. His voice sounded stickier; when Sapnap looked at him, a ring of red caramel encircled his mouth. "All right, gentlemen, let's get this show on the road! You know how this goes, it's down from ten, but I'm counting in twos! Ten! Eight! Six! Four! Two! Zero! Go!"
Third round. Third win. Easy.
Sapnap didn't charge to meet him this time. Instead he walked, relishing what would inevitably be the final round. "Come on, Fundy," he goaded, "use your anger. Remember what I did. To the cur. Come on."
Fundy approached from the other side, circling Sapnap as he did. "Don't do this. You have no right to talk to me like that."
"Sapnap's not rushing in," Tubbo detailed. "He's playing low, he's playing mind games. He's getting in Fundy's head."
Then Fundy sprinted forward. He raised his axe to the side, aiming for Sapnap's left, but as Sapnap moved to dodge, the fox-boy swapped the weapon to his other hand and lashed at his head. Sapnap stooped, keeping his head, but not his grace. He tried sweeping Fundy's legs, but the man fluttered out of his reach.
"You fool," the sly fox cackled.
"An interesting strategy," commented Sapnap, but he would not let Fundy catch him off-guard a second time. They exchanged a couple rapid hits, blunt blades sliding off their armor. They kept this up until both needed a break and each retreated behind a pillar.
Why won't he just lose already? Maybe it's time to switch tactics.
Tubbo's commentary unraveled in the background. "All right, okay, Sapnap's getting out his bow, he's gonna try to get a shot off. Oops. I don't know if he just got a shot off, I missed it when I accidently dropped my apple. Okay, there's Fundy, he's loading his bow. Okay, he missed the first shot, Sapnap's gonna come around. Okay! They exchange a hit! Fundy snipes him a second time! Okay, Sapnap goes in for the return hit while Fundy is retreating, and sadly misses. But now Fundy turns around and gets a clean shot on Quackity!"
This really caught Sapnap off-guard. From his hiding place behind a pillar, he looked to and fro, and there, just outside the ring, was a doubled-over duck-boy with a side of fox-boy-induced pain. "Quackity?"
Quackity's flitting eyes met his. He straightened, waved a hand, and topped it off with a strained smile. "Hey, Sap! How's it going?"
"It's okay." Sapnap gave him a curt nod, hoping Quackity could get a hint.
But the dude kept babbling, "Don't worry. I'm okay. Except, the other day, you kinda ditched me back there in the cabin and I woke up to the cow eating my face, but you know, no hard feelings."
"Yeah, yeah, okay, don't talk to me right now."
Sapnap turned back to the arena, in time to see Fundy come looping in from around the pillar. Sapnap blocked his hit with his bow, nearly snapping it in the process, but Fundy came around again with a sudden low swing. Sapnap jumped back once, twice, to catch his balance, and before he knew it, he collided right into Quackity, who was most certainly out-of-bounds.
Tubbo let out an ecstatic whoop. "Fundy! My man, you've done it! It's two to one, folks! If Sapnap takes this next round, he wins it all, but Fundy's catching up."
"Sapnap!" Fundy crowed, tossing his axe from one hand to another. "You're getting a little bit tense, buddy! Do you need a minute?"
"No, it's all good. Don't get too cocky." Sapnap disentangled himself from the jumble of limbs and feathers that was once Quackity.
"Why do we have to get all violent with each other?" it wheezed. "Can't you, like, talk out your issues?"
"And pass up an opportunity to duel? No way. Count us down, Tubbo."
The fourth round went down. Sapnap ditched the bow and barreled in for close combat, hoping the sheer lack of hesitancy in his attacks would intimidate the fox-boy. But Fundy moved with lighter feet, dodging Sapnap's strokes and making a few of his own. He never went through with these hits, continuously misleading Sapnap and swerving around in a completely different direction. Sapnap barely started before he found himself knocked out of the ring yet again.
Tubbo did a little dance. "Lightning round! Oh, Fundy, that was brilliant! You were awesome out there! You're like the second Technoblade!" The local spectator Quackity blanched at the legend's name, but nobody noticed.
How is this happening? Sapnap spat out the end of his long ponytail that had somehow made its way into his mouth. He was doing so well until these last couple rounds. But now he lost the upper hand. Whoever won this last round would win it all.
"You hearing this, Sapnap?" broke in Fundy's laughs, mischievous bursts of glee. "This is it. You might be slipping."
"I might be. Only means that it's time to turn on the jets." And Sapnap released the straps of his armor, letting it all fall at his feet.
Fundy did the same, now looking twice as lanky as before. "Maybe I was holding back the entire time," he said, a wicked smile scorched on his face. "Faking it. Just messing with you. Maybe I think this is all a big joke!"
"Yeah, this is all just a joke to you. This is anything but a joke to me."
At this, Fundy's unhinged expression dwindled into reluctant sincerity. "That's fair." Something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "I'm lying. This is not a joke to me. This is very important."
What would Fundy do with his fish anyway?
"Look at that, they've taken off their armor. That's not very smart." Tubbo sat on the wreckage, picking at an apple skin from between his teeth. "This is the match point. Fundy, if you don't win this, it goes to Sapnap and he takes the win. This is really stressful. I'm actually on the edge of my seat. Gentlemen, you know the drill, same fight, three, two, one, go!"
The world rolled into warfare–Fundy and Sapnap, baker versus cook, all accompanied by Tubbo's thrilling commentary: "It's the battle of the ages! Fundy is really pulling it out of the bag for this one. I have, in fact, never seen him fight as well as this. Fundy's sticking to the high ground which could potentially be risky. Seems that it's easier to hit someone when they're higher up. They're both being very quiet. Fundy's holding the bow; he really ought to be using the axe. He shouldn't be using the bow. You prob–yeah, yeah, he swaps to the axe. Okay, he's jumped 'round, he's getting down onto the same level. Okay, Sapnap gets a hit on Fundy, that's bad. Sapnap gets a second hit on Fundy–remember, he's not wearing armor. Fundy's retreating, now he should really use the bow."
Sapnap couldn't help it. Winning as he was, he whipped out his own bow and sent a shot flying over Tubbo's head.
The bee boi ducked behind his mound of debris. "Don't kill me," he squeaked. "I'm the referee."
"Yeah, don't kill the referee," joined Fundy from behind a pillar.
Sapnap kept his bow drawn. "Even when he's coaching one of us mid-battle? Our referee is not very impartial."
"I am impartial!" Tubbo insisted fiercely. The fierceness quickly deescalated. "Just–I just really want Fundy to win." Then he added in a half-whisper, though still obnoxiously loud enough for everyone to hear, "Maybe Fundy scares me, but Sapnap scares me more."
"I'll do it!" someone yapped. Quackity scuttled over to Tubbo's roost. Fundy did a double-take on the winged boy, but asked no questions. The fight had to go on. Assuming ownership of the dirty, half-eaten candy apple, sports commentator Quackity drilled fifty words a minute, only half of which Sapnap could decipher: "They're playing it close, folks! They're playing it close! Sapnap tosses his bow aside and comes in with the axe. Look at him! De verdad, Sapnap no se está conteniendo. Watch out! Fundy avanza a tu izquierda! Bloquearlo! I mean–block it! Block him, Sapnap!"
Tubbo snatched the apple back. "They're both retreating! It's looking like Fundy's still holding his axe. He should be ready with the bow. Okay, Sapnap goes in for the bowshot and Fundy dodges. He gets out his bow, but now Sap's gone behind a pillar."
"Where am I, Fundy...?" Sapnap let his voice echo in and out of the ruins.
"Sapnap's playing time, staying idle behind the back pillar, the one over there," Tubbo blathered. "I'm trying to give it away for Fundy."
"Where am I hiding, Fundy?"
"Fundy knows," Quackity grumbled.
Tubbo yawned adorably. "The sun is setting on the arena. They're coming together. Okay, now this, I reckon, is where the final exchange will take place. They're both tired, they are playing a very, very tight game. Sapnap's coming down on Fundy, Fundy is narrowly holding him off. Oh, it doesn't look good for Fundy."
I don't need Dream's help. I don't need George's help. I'll do it by myself.
"Fundy gets hit by a bow! Literally–Sapnap just whacked him on the head with the bow."
"Wait, my turn," said Quackity, snagging the mic. "Unbelievable move by Sapnap! Who would've thought to use the bow! The genius of this man!"
"But wait–" came Tubbo again. "Fundy's retaliating! Look at those feigning swings!"
Before long, the referees were fighting over the microphone like two kids over a half-eaten candied apple.
"Sapnap is winning!"
"No, Fundy is winning!"
"He's got him to the edge! It's a one-hit win!"
"No, it's a–NO!"
Fundy had given it his all–for L'Manberg, for justice, for Niki–but it just wasn't enough. He fought until he could fight no more, and fell into the ashes with the rest of the ruin. Sapnap looked down on him and said, "I'm sorry, Fundy."
Quackity was still roaring into that apple, oblivious that no one could understand him. "¡Se acabó! ¡Sapnap lo hace en un contragolpe feroz, impresionante, espectacular en todos los sentidos! ¡No lo puedo creer! ¡Aquí estamos y nos abrazamos los unos a los otros! ¡Una fiesta para todos! ¡Yo pago!"
Tubbo, no apple to speak of, wallowed in the rubble. True misery the Dream SMP had never seen. "A close game. Truly, a close game. That timing was incredible."
"You know, Fundy," said Sapnap, "you were an amazing competitor."
Fundy's voice came quietly. "It was a good fight. You did well. Honestly, it was insane."
"Yeah."
Tubbo lurched upright, smudged in grime and leftover candy caramel. "I'm sweating, guys, I'm sweating. That was incredibly good to commentate, like, you've got no idea. I am about to pass away."
"Before that happens," said Sapnap, "I think you need to give me some stuff. My winnings."
"Oh, certainly. Yes, the fish are safe–both of them. They're up in the L'Manberg Embassy. You can go and fetch them yourself. I believe Tommy is there now."
Sapnap dropped off his weapons and reclaimed his own equipment, consisting of his netherite sword and bow, brassards and greaves, and his snacks for the road. Untethering his horse but not bothering to mount it, he and Quackity started walking north to the embassy after bidding their adieus. Fundy may have acknowledged Sapnap's victory, but not his farewell, choosing to loiter around the ashy arena as a ghost haunts the place of its demise.
"So, Quackity," said Sapnap when they were out of earshot, "where have you been all this time? Like, where did you stay last night?"
"Oh, I've really just hung around that cabin, 'cause most everything out here wants to eat me alive, but I know the owner's gonna come back and run me out one of these days, so there's that."
"Are you thinking of moving on, or sticking around?"
"I mean, where else would I go? The City of Lights? I can dream, but that doesn't mean I sleepwalk." A frivolous, yet sad-sounding laugh escaped the duck-boy.
"I'm fine with you crashing in my place if you're cool with that."
Quackity perked up, beaming. "You mean it? Thanks, man."
"Sure. I'm not not a stingy L'Manbergian."
They had almost made it to Tommy's backyard, when who should come waltzing out the embassy door but the stingy L'Manbergians themselves. President Soot and Vice President Innit–laughing of all things–one-and-half British gents lost in their own merry world. Sapnap eyed them, thinking how much he'd like to stick his swordpoint between their ribs.
Tommy stopped and stuck his finger at Quackity. " 'Ey, look, Wilbur! It's that bloke with the wings and the funny voice!"
Wilbur remained merry regardless of the non-European rabble before him, and asked, "What was again? Quincy?"
"Quackity," said Quackity hesitantly, eyes darting to Tommy as if expecting the child to jump him at any second.
"Quacki'y!" Tommy hacked. " 'Ow about Lil' Q? That suits you much finer, ey? Do you know that your voice is so annoying? Why do you 'ave wings? Can you fly around in all the clouds for a bit? And can I come too?"
No one else mentioned it, so Sapnap took this opportunity to poke at Tommy. "If he's Lil' Q, what does that make you, Shorty?"
They waited until this resonated in Tommy's hyperkinetic brain, and he blurted, "Big Q! You will be Big Q!" And how proud of himself he looked.
"Has a nice ring to it, really," said Wilbur. He continued in the same cordial manner, still not acknowledging Sapnap, "How are you doing, Big Q?" Sapnap wondered what had made him so amiable all of the sudden, then noticed the booklet Wilbur held contentedly at his side.
"I'm doing good, thank you for asking." Big Q, barely living up to his nickname even while standing next to the sixteen-year-old, pretended to look pleasantly curious. "What are you writing there?"
Wilbur opened his mouth, closed it, conferred with Tommy. "Let's give him a sneak preview, 'cause we haven't signed it yet," he whispered loudly, then spun around to Quackity once more, smiling broadly. "We're running for president of L'Manberg."
Quackity's eyes widened. "President? Are you not the president?"
"I mean–yes, but we need to prove that we are good enough, you know? For the L'Manbergians. Thus we're running a democratic election so they can vote us in themselves."
"There's been downright wars!" Tommy wailed.
Wait until they hear about the duel...
"The citizens aren't listening to us," continued the president–and/or president-to-be. "They're provoking others, ensuing violence, disregarding the peace treaty..."
Tommy nodded gravely. "Aye, those rascals."
"My loyal citizen Fundy insists on drawing swords despite our anti-weapon policy. And then there's Tommy, who insists on inciting Dream, the man we owe our independence to."
"That Fundy, such a scoundrel."
"And Tommy..."
Tommy nodded. "Aye, indeed."
"So, here's the plan." Wilbur came close to Quackity's ear. "We're the only party running, so we're just going to win!" And he cackled joyfully for himself. "Honestly, the election doesn't even matter. Look, we've written these policies up. Listen. 'Reasons to vote. One: we won the war. Two: Tubbo. Three: we don't like Sapnap.' " Then absent-minded Wilbur remembered Sapnap was there, and lent him an empty smile. He rattled down the list until he reached policy number twelve. " 'We will abolish–now, Big Q, say something you don't like. Anything you want."
"Hmm...you know what I don't like?" Quackity leaned his head to one side, the corner of his mouth creeping into a smirk. "I don't like...ANY OF IT, WILBUR! I hate all of it!" Quackity's convivial demeanor finally snapped, and now all witnessed the rage of the duck-boy.
"What?" Wilbur stared blankly at the booklet. "We can't abolish our policies."
Quackity hopped onto a blackened tree stump, flinching–a lasting consequence from Fundy's clean bowshot on him. "I have an announcement, fellas. I will not be part of this democracy injustice! Wilbur and Tommy–" He lost balance, fell off the stump, scrambled back on. "You're a couple of losers! And a threat to democracy! A single party?! Are you kidding me?!"
Stupid Wilbur still couldn't register what was happening. "We're the right and best and only party."
"Sorry, but there's another party, pal," Quackity cackled. "I am going to run against you, Wilbur, and I don't care."
"What?! What do you mean you're going to run against us? You're not part of L'Manberg! You're not even European!"
"I. Don't. Care."
Wilbur should've dismissed him to ludicracy and stalked away, when his face masked with horror. "Oh no, we didn't sign the document. Tommy! I said if we signed it in L'Manberg, no one else could join and that's why we were heading there–to sign it! Why didn't I sign it!"
This idiot. If he made up the rules, why can't he change the rules? How did this dunderhead lead the revolution?
"Will," Tommy trembled, so much his voice warbled, "you don't mean–you don't mean 'e can seriously join the running even if 'e's not a L'Manbergian or–"
Quackity's great winged shadow swallowed up all the others, all except Wilbur's. "My party is called the SWAG Party," he declared. "You know what 'SWAG' stands for? So We Are Gangstas! Take that, morons!"
The child spazzed, the color draining from his face and into his uniform. "Wait, what's the name of our par'y again?"
"The Right and Best and Only Party...?" Wilbur offered pitifully.
"No, no, that will never do. Will, what are we gonna do?"
"I don't know what to do, Tommy. I've never not been president!" For the first time in L'Manberg history, Wilbur Soot entered panic mode.
"Yeah, you'll regret barring me from L'Manberg," Quackity smickered. "I can already see how scared you are."
"I'm not scared of any American," Wilbur growled.
"Sucks for you." The duck-boy bounded from his pinnacle. "I'M MEXICAN!" Then Quackity took Sapnap's arm in his and together they and the horse marched to the door of the L'Manberg Embassy where they'd reclaim Sapnap's winnings from his duel with the fox-eared baker to avenge the president's pretty profiterole of a girlfriend's dead dog, winnings which consisted of two fish Sapnap and George had caught in the Community Lake one summer's day when all was right and no one got run over by trains, and weird duck-bois didn't fall out of the sky and drive every citizen of the Dream SMP bonkers.
Froggy: VAERYS et moi apprécions vraiment votre soutien! Nous espérons que vous resterez jusqu'à la fin.
God bless,
Unicadia and VAERYS